


Prepare for the Worst

by aibidil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Minerva McGonagall, Established Relationship, F/F, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts Professors, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Joggers, Lesbian Character, Older Characters, Older Women, Running, Second War with Voldemort, Sweatpants, exercise, fitness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 20:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13256109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aibidil/pseuds/aibidil
Summary: The war is in full force, and Minerva McGonagall knows it’s coming for Hogwarts. She’ll be ready.





	Prepare for the Worst

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to the mods, because an excuse to write badass Minnie McG in joggers is 110% appreciated. And thanks to **frnklymrshnkly** for a helpful beta.

**October 1997**

At the head table, Minerva McGonagall cast her eyes around the Great Hall. The Hufflepuffs were fine; Hannah Abbott was back from the Hospital Wing and Minerva had it on Poppy’s authority that she’d been sent back with extra pain potions and instructions to pass them out to any Hufflepuffs who might need them. The Ravenclaws were subdued because many of their most charismatic students had been kept home this year. The Slytherin table was acting as well as could be expected—the little Death Eaters acting smug, but the rest of the Slytherins, including the ones Minerva always kept an eye on because she worried about them in the dungeons, looked fine. The Gryffindor table was quiet, almost in grieving, the absence of its three top troublemakers always palpable.

Good. Everything was in order. She flicked her eyes towards Severus, noting with distaste the way he also seemed to be scanning the room. A year ago she never would have assumed ill intent from him, but now she felt sure his motivations for scanning the student body were decidedly less noble and less protective than hers.

“Rubeus,” she whispered, leaning slightly to her right. He didn’t give an outward appearance of having been spoken to, but he stiffened slightly and raised one of his enormous fingers a bit to show he was listening. “I’m heading out to the Quidditch pitch. Keep an eye on the Gryffindors when they head back to the tower after dinner, and contact me immediately if anything happens.”

“O’ course,” he said in a low voice, then turned quickly to Filius and began a conspicuous discussion about the best Charms for hippogriff egg incubation.

Minerva didn’t miss the way that Severus’s eyes flicked to Rubeus with a look of utter contempt, and her newfound hatred for him grew. She’d thought her hatred had reached its outer limits, but apparently this war was determined to prove all such assumptions wrong.

She rose from her chair, quietly pushing it in. As she walked away, she tried not to worry about the watchful eyes of Severus and the bampot twins, the Carrows. She’d never before been cowed in this castle and she certainly wasn’t going to be cowed now. She was still free to move through the castle and its grounds, whatever else had happened.

She didn’t dawdle, though. She walked briskly away from the head table, choosing to walk straight through the Hall past the Gryffindor table. She was not going to hide. It was more suspicious to sneak around, and, in any case, she refused to act like Severus.

As she passed Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and the rest of Potter’s crew, she gave them a quick wink. She saw Neville start to smile, but she kept walking—she couldn’t risk stopping there. 

She wished there were more she could do to help them. She had a stock of shrunken supplies in her robe pocket, ready to pass along when she found the chance, away from watchful and malicious eyes. Unfortunately there was not much more she could do without bringing unwanted attention upon the students, and she no longer had Albus’s mostly benevolent machinations to guide her.

She walked into the entrance hall, and as the door to the Great Hall closed behind her, she let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. Without a glance behind, she strode out of the castle.

The autumn air was refreshing as it whipped a few sections of her greying hair from its tight bun. She didn’t have patience for _that,_ and pulled her wand, casting a definitive hair charm at her head. She nodded in satisfaction as she felt the hair tighten into a neat and manageable chignon.

If her hair was going to misbehave in times like these, she’d shave her head. She’d like to see the look on Severus’s face then.

She was smiling as she reached the Quidditch pitch, and Rolanda seemed surprised.

“You’re smiling,” Rolanda said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Explain.”

Minerva reached out, pulling Rolanda in for a tight hug. She could feel some of the tension seep out of her bones as she squeezed. Lately, the days were long, and both of them needed comfort—and often a stiff whisky—when they saw each other at the end of the day.

“I was merely contemplating what Severus would say if I shaved my head,” Minerva said with a chuckle, her head tucked into Rolanda’s neck.

Rolanda barked a short laugh. “If we’re in a mood to contemplate things that could befall Severus, I can think of a lot better scenarios than you shaving your head. For example, if he accidentally cast _Avada Kedavra_ while his wand was pointing at his leg.”

Minerva laughed, but it sounded sad to her ears, almost like a sob. She held on a bit tighter.

Rolanda pulled back and looked at Minerva, appraising. “You’d look good with a shaved head.”

“Ro, sweet-talker is not a good look on you.”

“I’m serious!” Rolanda replied. Then, much more somber, she inquired, “How’s Abbott?”

Minerva pressed her lips together. “Poppy discharged her. She seems okay.”

Rolanda nodded once. “Are you ready?”

Minerva hummed her assent. Handing her wand to Rolanda, she began unbuttoning her robes. She folded the robes primly and Levitated them to a bench on the side of the pitch. Underneath, she was wearing a pair of tartan joggers (courtesy of a special owl-order by Rolanda) and a “Gryffindor Captain” t-shirt. No one but Ro ever saw her in the shirt, but she had always thought of herself as the ultimate Gryffindor captain.

Rolanda reached into her own joggers pocket and pulled out a Shrunken pair of trainers. She waved her wand and the trainers returned to Minerva’s size. She held them out, and Minerva took them, swapping them with her pointy-toed black boots with a wave of her wand. 

She tucked her wand into an arm holster. She wouldn’t go anywhere without immediate access to her wand, now. 

“We’re going to jog for five, then rest,” Rolanda instructed. “Then we’ll do some strength training, then jog again. You ready?”

Minerva started to jog, and Rolanda caught up a moment later.

“Something’s wrong with Longbottom’s right leg,” Rolanda informed darkly, adjusting the waistband of her joggers. “He’s trying to hide it.”

Minerva sighed. “He’s fighting a war at school. I suppose there’s only so much we can do.”

Rolanda hummed thoughtfully as they curved around the far side of the pitch. “Did Kingsley return your owl?”

“Not yet,” Minerva answered, thinking again about how difficult it was to organise a counterinsurgency without a clear leader. Well, without a clear leader over the age of twenty. “I despise not knowing what to do to best prepare,” she said. “I despise not knowing where Harry is, not being able to protect him.”

Rolanda let out a long whistle. “Potter is beyond our protection now, Min. He may always have been. I couldn’t even keep him safe on the pitch.”

Minerva reached over and squeezed her arm. Keeping Potter safe had been a stressful responsibility for all of them, and while it was nice no longer worrying about Dementors showing up to attack him on the grounds, it was somehow even worse knowing he was out on his own somewhere, with only two other teenagers for help, beyond the reach of their defensive spells.

“Oh well,” Rolanda announced with the tone of someone who had lived long enough to know deep in her bones that worrying wouldn’t solve anything. She pulled her wand from her arm holster and cast a spell at Minerva. “Pulse is 100. Good. We’re strong as Gorgons.”

Minerva laughed despite her stress. “When do you think Severus last exercised?”

Rolanda let out a loud guffaw. “That sallow-faced bastard? I don’t think he’s been _outside_ in daylight for months.” She paused, then added, “Maybe he’s a vampire.”

Minerva laughed, feeling the permanent knot in her stomach unravel just the tiniest fraction. “I can tell you that when I was a young witch, I didn’t expect I’d end up strength training at sixty-two because I thought a war might break out in my place of work. I’m a _scholar,_ Ro!”

“You’re a fit scholar who will be damn well prepared to survive a duel or a battle,” Rolanda, who had stopped laughing suddenly, shot back. She came to an abrupt stop. “Fuck, let’s take our rest—it’s nearly been five.” She stopped, hands on her hips and face contorted with worry and exertion.

Minerva stopped and took a few deep breaths. Rolanda’s face was stern, but years of experience told Minerva it was not anger but worry. Minerva reached out and tugged her in for a hug. “I’ll be okay. I can take Severus in a duel.”

“I know you can,” Ro snapped, her face buried against Minerva’s ear. “But it won’t be a proper _duel._ I seem to remember sitting in St Mungo’s while you recovered from four simultaneous Stunners. You had more magical skill in your pinky than any of them had in their entire bodies, but war is not _fair_ , Min.”

Minerva sighed, pulling away. “No, it’s not,” she said frankly. “What’s next?”

“Push-ups,” Rolanda said, her terse answer betraying her unease. She dropped to the ground, concentrating, and lowered herself with precision. Her elbows stayed tucked next to her sides, the soft, wrinkled skin of her arms softening her athletic appearance.

Minerva, less nimbly, got to the ground and did her best to mimic Rolanda’s enviable form. “Voldemort is not going to expect us old biddies to be so virile,” she announced, her arms shaking, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“That motherfucker probably can’t even do a push-up,” Ro answered, lowering herself down again.

They both knew that Voldemort wouldn’t lose the war because of poor arm strength.

“Quite right,” Minerva said, finishing off her remaining push-ups in silence. When she finished, Rolanda was sitting in the grass, looking up at the sky. Minerva pushed herself into a sitting position next to her.

“There’s only so much we can do,” Rolanda said, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

Minerva turned, grasped both of Rolanda’s cheeks in her hands, and pressed a firm, no-nonsense kiss to her lips. “We are preparing as best we can, in every way. What’s next?”

Ro smiled and leaned forward for another kiss, then stood up and announced, “Sun salutations.”

Minerva stood and looked across the grounds at the castle. The setting sun painted the sky in an array of pinks and reds. “Right. I’m ready.”


End file.
